


Purple and Black

by knittyknicker



Series: KinkBingo 2012 [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, kinkbingo: crossdressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittyknicker/pseuds/knittyknicker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the kink bingo square crossdressing.</p><p>If you're wondering, this is the outfit (second picture at the bottom of the large image): https://xdress.com/product/view/Z803</p>
    </blockquote>





	Purple and Black

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink bingo square crossdressing.
> 
> If you're wondering, this is the outfit (second picture at the bottom of the large image): https://xdress.com/product/view/Z803

“It’s purple.”

“Well, yeah, they all are. It’s to raise awareness for Spirit day.”

“But it’s... it’s not...”

“It’s for a good cause. All aimed at stopping bullies.”

“I’m sorry, no. I can’t wear that.” 

As the rest of the team sits, dumbfounded at their leaders uncharacteristic refusal, Bruce steeples his hands under his chin and processes.

~~~

Steve is careful to close his door softly behind him before sinking to his mattress and cradling his face in his palms. His breathing is too fast, but the serum keeps it from becoming an issue, so different from what he was used to. 

When he had seen the outfit the organizers wanted him to wear, he’d needed a moment to push down on the burst of _want_ that had filled his chest. It was everything he wasn’t supposed to want, everything he couldn’t have. He wasn’t a girl. He was a man. He was Captain America. He wasn’t supposed to want ruffles and lace and shiny fabrics unless they were on the body of a dame. But he still _wanted_.

The touch of the smooth black satin against his skin, the ruffles of tulle teasing the tops of his thighs, the scratch of lace at the upper edge of the top, the ribbon snug and limiting how much he could expand his chest, even the pressure as it narrowed his waist and made his masculine body mimic a more feminine shape. It was too much and just the thought had him groaning in a confused jumble of desire and shame as he pictured how he would look. 

It was just too much. For Steve, 1941 was only a few months past and the cries of “wrong” and “pervert” and “deviant” are vying for prominence in his mind. It hadn’t mattered when he did it back then, hidden among the clothes in his mother's closet, but now he is a hero, an icon. People expect him to be a certain way. He knows things are different now, but nothing in his acclimatizing had covered this particular circumstance. None of the other men had seemed overly shocked, but considering who they were, he wasn’t sure how helpful that really was. 

A sharp knock on his door has him startling. He looks at the mirror above his dresser, knowing he won’t be able to do much to hide his blush or his arousal, choosing instead to stay where he was, even as he quails at how rude the action was. 

“Yes?”

“Steve, it’s Bruce. Open the door please.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Look, we can do this through the door if you want, but for the sake of privacy you might want to open up.”

The rush of fear that catches Steve had him limp in a heartbeat. The chanting of _he knows your secret, he knows your secret_ makes Steve press his forehead to his knees before he stands and crosses to the door, opening it to see Bruce, alone, with a knowing look on his face. 

“May I come in?” 

“Um, sure.”

Steve steps back and Bruce walks in and it is only then that he sees the bag that Bruce carries with him. 

“So, is it that you don’t want to do this? Or is it that you feel like you want it too much?” 

“I can’t”

“Why not?”

“Bruce,” and Steve knows he sounds pathetic, “I’m not supposed to want that.”

“Don’t think about anyone else but you. What do _you_ want to do?”

Steve feels himself leaning toward the black and purple fabric Bruce had spread over his comforter and allows himself to drag his fingertips over the material, but snatches his fingers away before he does anything foolish, like try to pick it up.

Bruce just waits, watching Steve with his arms folded. “Did you want to try it on?”

Steve’s ‘no’ is nearly a moan and Bruce can read the _yes,please_ even through the denial. 

“I can help you into it and no one would ever have to know, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting it. Wearing silky panties doesn’t make you less of a man if you don’t want it to.”

“No one would know?”

“Well aside from me? No, and I won’t tell”

Steve is still hesitating, but Bruce can practically see his resistance crumble. “I’ll be in the hall. Change if you want, and call me if you need any help with the laces.”

Steve barely hears the click of the door latch, already stripping out of his shirt and slacks. He hesitates when he’s down to his boxer briefs, but shrugs, pushing them off and reaching for the skirt. It’s softer than he expected, not the same scratchy petticoat material that his mother’s had been made of and he wiggles as he slides the filmy garment up his thighs, settling the elastic just below the dip of his waist. 

The corset is next and he picks it up, holding it at arm's length before turning it round and eyeing the rows of laces. This wasn’t like the girdles he’d worn before, there were no hook and eyes, no way to put it on backwards and turn it when it was fastened. There was no way he could do this alone. Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, blowing it out before setting the corset down and cracking the door. 

“Bruce? I need your help.”

He watches as Bruce pulls away from the wall and takes the three steps needed to reach his door, stepping back out of view as Bruce walks in and shuts the door behind him. 

“I got this far, but I don’t...”

“Yeah, corsets tend to be a two person project.”

Bruce’s matter of fact attitude has Steve’s shoulders relaxing and he turns, presenting his back to Bruce. When he does, he hears a startled gasp from the other man. Turning his face over his shoulder, he looks at Bruce’s face, but the scientist doesn’t see, eyes focused on the hem of the skirt.

“Did you forget something?”

“Hmm?”

Bruce can’t pull his eyes away from the crease of Steve’s ass and thigh, completely unobscured by any garment. The hem of the skirt does little more than draw attention to the sight and Bruce chokes a little more as the twist of Steve’s body shifts the skirt even higher. 

“The, em, the panties. Did you forget them?”

“I didn’t see them.”

Bruce swallows hard and turns to the bed, finding the skimpy underwear twisted in the plastic of the bag he carried them in. Extending his hand, he lets them hang, swaying slightly from the movement of his body. 

“Did you want to...”

Steve is blushing again and Bruce thinks that passing out from the sudden blood rush away from his brain is a definite possibility. 

“Yeah, just... turn around?”

And jesus, he’s suddenly harder than he’s ever been before. 

The sounds kill him as he listens to the rustle of fabric and the slide of bare skin as Steve tugs the panties up and Bruce can _hear_ when Steve reaches into the panties to settle himself. When Steve lets him know it’s safe to turn around Bruce takes a moment to steady his breathing before he turns back to the other man. 

Clearing his throat, he picks up the corset from the bed and gestures for the other man to turn, once more presented with his back. The panties might actually be worse, the dark fabric contrasting beautifully with his skin and drawing attention to the shadowed cleft of his ass tucked beneath the silky fabric. 

Bruce works the laces free of the holes and wraps his arms around Steve’s chest to pull the corset into place. Steve presses his hands against the cups, holding it in place as he feels Bruce’s fingers brush his skin each time the ribbon is threaded through another set of holes. As the corset is laced back together, he feels the constriction build and stands up straighter, pulling his spine into a line and squaring his shoulders. The juxtaposition of shiny purple fabric and wispy skirt against the military precision of his stance are brain bending and Steve shudders a little bit, hardly believing that he’s letting anyone, even someone he trusts as much as he trusts Bruce, see him like that. 

The gentle tugs and the whiz of ribbon against metal stop and Steve shivers at the contrast between Bruce’s cooler fingers and the body warm satin.

“The lace is in, now let’s get you tightened up.”

Steve doesn't speak, tongue heavy and thick in his mouth. Instead, he spreads his legs, widening his stance and leans forward to compensate for the pull of the corset strings tightening. Each tug is sharp, squeezing the air from his lungs just a little more. He can hear the noises falling out of his mouth at the sensations, but can’t make himself stop, lost in the feeling of being surrounded and supported and contained. 

Behind him, he hears Bruce’s breathing go ragged and asks if they need to take a break, let Bruce regain his calm. Bruce just shakes his head and waits for Steve to nod before pulling the ladder smaller and smaller, hands working together to keep the laces taut and controlled. Steve can feel himself going lightheaded and forces himself to breathe more deeply, finding that the corset makes it more difficult, but far from impossible, as long as he remembers to exert just a bit more effort than normal. Finally the tugging stops and Bruce fastens the laces in a neat bow centered between his shoulder blades.

Nudging the soldier forward, he maneuvers him to the dresser and walks around, taking in the image of Captain Rogers dressed in black and purple satin. The sweetheart neckline of the corset snugs against the swell of his pecks, and the dainty little bow perches between them. The boning of the corset draws the eyes down to the froth of Tulle around his hips and Bruce thinks that he’s never seen something as beautiful as what he’s looking at. Steve’s soft “Thank you,” has Bruce looking up to find Steve looking more stunned than he’s ever seen him before. 

Steve looks at the person in the mirror and doesn’t immediately see himself. He sees someone beautiful and masculine and feminine and perfect and he aches for it. He watches the person’s lips kick up and lifts a hand to his own face, tracking the movement in the mirror. This is him, this is how he looks and he is so so glad Bruce showed up to talk him into trying the outfit on. Turning, he pulls the scientist in to him, tucking him against his body and laying his head on Bruce's shoulder. Bruce pats his back gently, and after a few minutes, moves to pull away but Steve won’t relinquish his hold. Instead, he summons up all the courage people give him credit for and whispers out his question.

“Stay?”

And Bruce just nods.


End file.
